


Silver Rain and Rolling Thunder

by MagicAndConstellations



Series: New Deities ‘Verse [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Classic Literature Inspired, Drought, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Famine - Freeform, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Logan and Patton are kings, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic, Rituals, Roman is a prince, Starvation, Virgil is a god, let me know if I missed anything, mythology inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29847384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicAndConstellations/pseuds/MagicAndConstellations
Summary: Royal magic was powerful, but earthly. It could not help drought, though Logan tried and tried.But with his months-long search finally coming to an end – Roman hoped – magic would be their savior.Gods be willing.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Series: New Deities ‘Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194365
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	Silver Rain and Rolling Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> First in a possible series. Thank you for reading.

Come sit, beloved.

Come gather, come listen.

Darlings and dears, mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, commoners and kings.

Come gather, friends and fiends, and hear a tale long forgotten. 

Of a land long forgotten, over fearsome seas and towering mountains, nestled peacefully in a quiet valley. Where the birds sing and flutter, where the growth of farmers’ bounty rivals that of the wildflowers, where war is but a fairytale. Where the children are jovial, where the people are friendly, where aid is freely given.

Of a land where law is just, where the rulers are fair, where compassion is valued. 

Of a land loved by gods.

But this was not always true.

There was a time, far in the past now, when doom clouded the minds of a once prosperous kingdom like a heavy fog.

The kingdom, ruled by the just king – Logan the Wise – alongside his husband – Patton the Compassionate, suffered a terrible drought, killing the crops and the livestock. 

The mountains, once protective over the kingdom, now sheltered death, for enemies lurked in their caves and crevices, waiting to strike.

Hope was long ago snuffed out. The people walked with little purpose, too afraid to eat but too hungry to fight. It was as if they were waiting for death to save them.

None was more troubled by this then King Logan the Wise. He frowned through his reports, trying and trying and failing to plan his way out of his kingdom’s impending doom.

“Darling,” King Patton the Compassionate called to him, softly. “You’ve been puzzling over your reports all day. Please, come to bed.”

Logan glanced up at him, smiling at the sight of his husband, as bittersweet as he felt.

You see, Patton could not stand to feed himself knowing others could not. He saw famine and death each day, and his bleeding heart was injured deeply with the knowledge. He gave his rations to the hungry, saving his kingdom in the best way he knew how. Logan begged and pleaded and _tried_ all he could, but he couldn’t get Patton to eat nearly enough. Especially not when Logan hardly had enough himself.

Patton swore his life to his kingdom in his wedding vows. And he did not break promises.

“I’ve much to do, my starlight,” Logan insisted. “This drought’s gone on far too long, and with war around every corner and my barriers weakening, we must stay vigilant, and be sure we aren’t run through before the famine does us in.”

“Logan, darling,” Patton looked as though he wanted to move closer, but kept his weak body leant against the doorframe. “As talented a magician as you are, even you can’t control the weather.”

Logan sighed, letting the words on the parchment he was reading scramble in his head as he stood. To his surprise, he stumbled on shaky legs as he began to walk towards his husband. Perhaps Patton wasn’t the only one in the palace feeling weak from hunger.

“Are you alright, love?” Patton caught Logan by the wrist, bringing his hand up to lay a gentle kiss upon it.

“Of course, star. I believe I’ve simply sat down for too long.”

Logan knew that Patton knew he was lying, but neither commented on it. 

Logan gazed upon his husband’s face. His once round, soft cheek was harsh and sharp. His once tan skin was sickly pale. His hand was cold in his. Patton was but an echo, a fleeting epitaph, of the kind commoner Logan had met.

He couldn’t help but yearn for happier times. A past marked by love and success and family, but since the turn of the winter season one year ago, that happiness was cut short.

He could see his longing reflected in his husband’s eyes.

“Some king am I,” Logan murmured, softly.

“Yes, a mighty great king indeed,” Patton’s voice was strong and sure, but Logan would not hear reassurance.

“You flatter me so, starlight.”

“And you deserve some flattery, with all the work you do.”

Logan stifled an exasperated sigh, and took his starlight into his arms. “If that’s what you believe, then so be it.”

A bittersweet moment indeed.

But fret not, beloved. This is a love story.

A love story following not a bereaved king, but a determined prince.

Prince Roman was stubborn – sure as the sun sets. He was a hassle of a boy, and turned out a bold, steadfast young man. He was trouble. And quite irksome to his brother, the king.

But Roman could not be corrected. There was nothing to correct. As this was his nature.

One’s nature is a very great thing indeed. It’s the barest essence of who you are, it’s the love and light of your soul, it’s your savior in a crisis.

And Prince Roman was good in a crisis.

His body protesting as he dug through the palace’s books, fighting to overlook hunger pangs and weak fingers, he searched. His legs had given out under him hours ago. He fought through the haze of hunger and exhaustion until he found his treasure. An old spell book, worn from use but smothered with dust, obviously well-loved long before Logan’s reign.

Magic had defined the royal family since the beginning of memory. It was rumored that they were descendants of the Old Gods, you see. Of course, this was a myth – at least as far as Logan was concerned.

Roman recalled a statement of his brother, out of earshot of ever-faithful Patton, that man feared gods as mice feared the movement of the grass. A phenomenon that could be explained away as something as harmless as a passing breeze. Logan was very scientific, you see.

_Yes, but the movement of the grass could be a cat or fox as easy as it could be the wind,_ Roman had privately thought. Instead he said, “And I suppose our magic is a passing breeze as well, yes?”

Logan struck his hand lightly, “Respect your king, brother,” he said, playfully. “There’s a perfectly sound explanation, surely. More scientific than simply ‘magic’.”

“Mercy on me, your highness,” Roman jested, “but what may that be?”

Logan rolled his eyes, exasperated at his brother’s mention of the puzzle he has spent years turning over in his mind. “Science is known to avoid giving answers, Roman. We must accept what we don’t understand as science whether we’ve discovered an explanation or not.”

“Have you perhaps thought that science and magic may be one and the same?”

Logan sighed in a way their mothers certainly would have scolded him for. “Foolishness,” he muttered.

Roman had simply laughed.

Now, Roman no longer had reason to laugh, to jest, to have trivial arguments with his brother. Logan was shut away, seeing no one but his husband. Patton was wasting away, his life bleeding out quicker and quicker each day. The kingdom was dying as he flipped through the fraying pages of the old, glorious book.

Royal magic was powerful, but earthly. It could not help drought, though Logan tried and tried.

But with his months-long search finally coming to an end – Roman hoped – magic would be their savior.

Gods be willing.

The words on the page were faded with time and use, but it was just legible. Roman whispered the incantation with hoarse breath, hands unsteady as the flickering candlelight.

His voice gave way to a whisper as he uttered the last words. He gasped, trying desperately to catch his breath. He could feel Power in the air around him, like a harsh winter wind. Perhaps that was just the energy seeping out of his body.

He was cold. So cold.

“Why, I’ve not been summoned for a long time. I’d began to think you’d forgotten about me.”

The voice was unfamiliar. Rough and low. Quiet. Roman tried to tilt his head up to see the speaker, but his bones were frozen still and his eyes were frozen shut.

“Now, now, lion,” the voice – the _god_ – cooed. “You’ve worked so hard, it’s time to rest.”

And then there was warmth. Flooding his blood, his heart, his soul. It was as though the god were breathing life back into him. The pangs of hunger and exhaustion were dashed. The cold was chased away.

Roman slipped Underneath. Floating in the dark ocean of unconsciousness. He felt as though he’d been there for days. He felt as though he’d been there for moments. Until he saw light again.

He knew it was a dream, but it felt more like a memory. Warm images of Mother’s smile. Mama’s eyes. Logan’s playful scowl. Patton’s warm hands. Words of encouragement, love, and comfort. Roman felt unfocused, not present, but each attempt at holding tight to any moment only pushed him into another.

“ _Careful, lion. If you hold too tightly you’ll never wake.”_

The voice was jarring. Roman was suddenly struck with the notion that there was something he must remember. Something important. But each attempt to gather his thoughts only unraveled them further.

_“Stubborn,”_ the voice commented warmly. Roman was taken aback at the affectionate tone. _Did he know that voice?_

He had no chance to think on it, as his will was slipping. He felt lethargic, his grip failing as he plummeted back into the ether. Warm images still flashed around him. But he was calmer now. Tranquil. He felt _whole._ As though his body was lost without his notice, then once again reunited with his consciousness. 

There was another forever-moment where Roman faded once more. He again found himself in the dark ocean. Floating, his body bobbing like a fishing boat over calm, lapping waves. Lulled. Back to flickering candlelight. Over closed eyelids.

When his eyes opened to the old palace library, it was as though no time had passed. Not enough to notice, at least. He looked up from the lap of the god with the warm skin that looked at him with dark eyes. _Dark_ eyes. For what should have been the whites of his eyes were blacker than the darkest night – reflecting no sun or star. His pupils, however, were full of them; they shone in the light like those of the stray cats that used to loiter around the palace grounds. Between them, his irises shone violet. _Shone_ dimly like a distant candle in a windowsill.

“Now, lion,” those otherworldly eyes twinkled kindly. “I’ve been alone a long time, and now I am summoned by a half-starved prince? What could have happened to cause such a fate to befall this kingdom?”

Roman’s breath shook, with hope? Anticipation? Fear? He didn’t know. He didn’t know what to make his god. But he did know he hadn’t a choice.

“I- I need your help. _We_ need your help. _Please,_ I beg of you-“

“ _Hush.”_

Roman went warm again. His shaking breath slowed. He hadn’t realized he’d been panting. He hadn’t realized he’d been panicking. Now that he could think clearly again, he began to understand his thoughts.

“You’re very frightening,” he breathed.

The god seemed sad, but huffed a small laugh. “Well, I mean no harm.”

Roman blinked up at him. “Promise?”

He was aware he sounded like a meek child, but the warmth made it impossible to care.

The god leaned forward slowly, raising a hand to his chest. “I give my solemn oath.”

Roman relaxed further, breathing a relieved sigh. He felt compelled to believe him. He didn’t know how or why, but his fear clashed with unbidden trust.

“Now tell me, lion,” a warm hand threaded through Roman’s hair, somehow not snagging on his wily curls. “What has happened?”

“Oh, terrible things,” Roman breathed. “We’ve not seen rain in so long our soil has burnt pale. Rogues have taken our mountains, killing our farmers and taking their livestock. My brother bounds them, but the boundary is weak, and they wait like vultures as our kingdom dies!”

The god’s hand stills.

“Please, _please,_ I beg of you! Help us, I’ll do anything!”

“Settle, lion,” the god murmured. “I’ll help you. In the next hour, rain will come. And it will come tomorrow. And it will come the day after. The rogues’ burrows will flood, and they will flee. The crops will grow quick and the kingdom will prosper for years to come.”

Roman reeled. This was more, _so much more,_ than he could have hoped for. “Do you swear it?”

The god nodded slowly. “I swear it, but I ask one thing in return.”

Roman stared up at the god expectantly. He had prepared for this. He was willing to give anything – his status, his fortune, his life. Anything. He needed his kingdom to survive. He needed his family to survive.

“All I ask,” the god said. “Is a temple in my honor. In a place most populous, as that’s where many go when they fall on hard times, hoping for a giving hand, to be a sanctuary. As the kingdom heals, sanctuary is necessary.”

“That’s – that’s it?” Roman had been told many times in his youth that dealing with gods could be a grave endeavor. He was prepared for death, torture, enslavement, anything but… _more_ help than he had already been given.

The god laughed, voice low like rumbling thunder. “I’d hold your tongue if I were you, lion,” he cooed. “Another Immortal could see your words as a challenge.

The god’s teeth were large and sharp and gleaming white. Roman briefly wondered as to why on Earth this god kept calling him _lion_ when he was making Roman feel like a _lamb_. “My apologies,” he murmured.

“No, no,” the god insisted. “No need, however, since you ask. There is one other thing I’d request of you.”

Roman cursed himself. He’d been known to push his luck, but he’d never think himself so foolish as to challenge a god. However, Logan would see it fitting, poetic, as sad and disappointed as he would be. Resigning himself to his fate, Roman said, “Of course.”

The god must have recognized his mortification, as he offered a gentle expression that did nothing to ease Roman’s racing heart. “I’ve been alone a long time. I’ve been missing company. Make me an altar in your quarters. Burn incense and leave offerings each evening and I will come to you. I simply want company.”

“Oh,” Roman wasn’t sure what to say. Perhaps it would be rude to say anything at all.

He wasn’t sure.

What do you say to a lonely god?

He decided not to dwell on it. “As you wish,” he offered simply.

And so it rained.

And rained.

And rained and rained and rained.

The event was heralded as a miracle. A gift from the gods. Roman grinned at the silent knowledge that they were right.

And the rain came the next day.

And the next.

And the next and the next and the next.

The mountain caves flooded, and their enemies fled.

Ailing cows and ewes gave birth to healthy calves and lambs.

Farmers’ sprouts peaked from the ground overnight.

Logan held a bowl of broth to Patton’s pale lips. “The kingdom is healing, starlight,” he said. “They are so overjoyed – think how they would feel to lose one of their kings.”

Patton sighed, and with more light than they’ve seen from him for days, he rose and sipped from the bowl. Roman silently entertained the idea that his god lent Patton the strength. But it mattered not, now. Like the kingdom, Patton was healing. Roman held his tongue and watched his brother cry with relief.

Roman led the construction of the god’s temple immediately, much to Logan’s chagrin.

“We don’t have the manpower for humoring silly myths, Roman!” he’d argued.

“Logan, the people of this kingdom respect and worship the gods. They have to have _something_ to put their faith in!”

Logan’s fingers dug into his brow. “ _Roman,_ I understand morale, but-”

“ _And-_ ” Roman continued. “Many have lost their homes and funds. They need the shelter, especially as the kingdom heals!”

“ _Don’t interrupt your king, Roman,”_ Logan’s teeth clenched together in his annoyance. He had to remind Roman that he was not his brother _only,_ but also his king.

Roman caught himself. “Apologies, but you still must concede.”

Logan considered his brother, “Well,” he said. “You are trained in construction. Mama made sure of that. Why burden our people when you could take responsibility yourself?”

“Oh,” Roman thought of the work, the _time_ it would take to build a temple himself. Would the god be angry? He gave no date in his ultimatum. “If I’ve no other option, then I suppose.”

That night, after the first rain, after Patton’s first meal in days, after his deal with Logan, Roman set down a crate as a makeshift altar, burning an incense – as he had very few, and didn’t want to waste them – and set down a few stale biscuits – as food was still scarce. He prayed with all he was that it would be enough, that the god would not be offended.

“Well, hello, lion.”

The voice of the god frightened Roman, and he jerked back with a loud gasp.

The god gave him that sad smile like he had before. “I take it, I still frighten you, then.”

Discomfort seeped into Roman’s heart, a precursor to guilt. He pushed it away. After all, he was still unsure of the god’s intentions, and did not wish to fall under a spell. “Well, your appearance hasn’t changed. I can not be blamed for an emotion I can not control.”

The god glanced toward the floor. “I suppose I understand that sentiment.”

Silence fell between them. It was tense. Uncomfortable. Roman didn’t like it. He liked loud. Dramatic. He was not a quiet person and he wanted the world to know it.

How was one to have a conversation with a god? Roman could not even ask his name, as gods did not like to give their names. It was more than a name, but also a spell. It was an immediate summon for the god, no difficult rituals or risks involved. And, more importantly, this brand of spell would be an inconvenience at best, or, with the right ritual, mortally disastrous at worst.

His god still wouldn’t meet his eyes. He seemed quiet. Withdrawn. Roman was obviously going to carry this conversation if they didn’t want to sit in this terrible silence forever.

“So the rain,” he started.

“Yes,” the god sounded relieved.

Roman felt slightly comforted. The god was also repulsed by the silence. The second of mutuality made the god seem more… attainable. More like an equal, though, Roman would never state that out loud for fear of offending him.

“It’s been heavenly,” Roman continued. “I’d forgotten how it felt.”

The god shifted his gaze to Roman, wide-eyed, for such a brief moment that Roman almost thought he’d imagined it. “Is that so?” he asked, quietly.

“Yes. I never liked the rain before, but today’s storm must have been wonderfully crafted.”

To Roman’s astonishment, the god seemed to fluster. “Thank you. I pay special attention to my storms. They’ve always been my favorite.”

“Well,” Roman briefly floundered for words, “you truly outdid yourself this time.”

The god _beamed._ His hand rose to cover his mouth, but Roman could still see it. It wrinkled his nose and creased his eyes. It was so unbelievably _endearing_ and Roman knew from that moment that he would never see it enough if he saw it every moment of every day.

And every day did come.

Every morning, Roman set out, working as long as his body would allow before going home to his brother’s questioning.

“You can’t take a break? Even for a moment?”

Roman waved him off. He knew Logan’s words were from a place of concern, and he loved him for it, but he didn’t have the time or energy to be confronted.

One evening Patton pulled him aside.

“I know what you did,” he whispered.

Roman feigned puzzlement at Patton’s words. “Whatever do you mean, Patton?”

Patton frowned, puffing up his cheeks. They’d gotten rounder over the past few weeks. His weight and strength were coming back nicely. “You know very well what I mean. You dealt with gods!”

Ashamed at having been found out, Roman remained silent.

“Have you gone _mad_?” 

“What else could I have done? With the kingdom dying, with _you_ dying-”

“Oh, don’t you dare use that against me.”

Roman winced. “I’m sorry, Patton. I didn’t realize that would offend you.”

Patton closed his eyes, sighing, trying to gather his emotions like Logan had taught him. “Oh, Roman.”

“He’s kind,” Roman insisted, starting to ramble, but he didn’t care. “A temple and some company. That’s all he wants. He’s just been lonely and neglected. That’s all.”

Patton just shook his head. “It’s out of our hands now. Just… be careful. I pray that you are that lucky.”

“Just don’t tell Logan.”

Patton offered a small smile. “My lips are sealed.”

Every night met Roman with more work.

He couldn’t exactly use the crate as an altar forever. Not if he didn’t want to offend his god.

After an hour or two of work, Roman would set a single incense and a few intact table scraps on the unfinished altar.

And every night he’d hear the telltale “Hello, lion.”

The god would look at him with those unsettling eyes that held uncanny warmth and ask irrelevant question after irrelevant question.

But the weeks passed, the temple was reaching for completion brick by brick. The altar was long finished and Roman even had more to offer than a single incense and some table scraps.

Weeks passed and conversation with his god slowly became less and less painful, and beaming grins became more and more frequent.

“What has happened to keep that stubborn mind of yours away from me?”

Roman was pulled out of his reverie by his god’s amused tone. “Huh?”

“‘Huh,’ he says,” the god teased. “What are you thinking of?”

“Oh, nothing, just-” The way candlelight reflected orange off the god’s coal-black hair. The way his pale skin glowed in the moonlight, the constellations of freckles on his cheeks standing out starkly against the moon’s glow. The way his long fingers looked as they rubbed absent-mindedly against his rose-petal lips. “I’ve enjoyed your company.”

The god fidgeted, an expression of bashfulness over his face. He opened his mouth, waited a moment, and shut it again. 

Roman didn’t take notice of the god’s loss for words. He was too busy entertaining the idea that he must have bathed in Venus’ waters. He wondered if it would be blasphemous to say such a thing out loud. 

“You’ve been too kind,” the god said, softly, finally finding his words again.

Roman wondered briefly if the god’s low voice had always made his heart beat this quickly. “I’ve simply been telling the truth.”

The god flustered again, and Roman took this opportunity to stare some more. His long legs, folded delicately underneath him as he sat. The faint, violet flush splashed over his face and down his neck. The way he seemed to shine at the praise. He truly was a sight to behold.

“You’ve been so wonderful to me, lion,” the god breathed. “It’s more than I ever could have asked of you, even for the healing of a million kingdoms.”

“You’ve been wonderful, too. I’ve not had company like this in ages.”

“I could say the same thing.”

Roman was embarrassed for a moment. And saddened. How long had his god been alone?

The god had shifted ever-so-slightly closer to Roman. Intentional or not, Roman wasn’t sure. But he shifted closer himself anyways.

“Well, I’ll keep you company. As long as you’ll have me.” Roman was all too aware of the way the god was looking at him. Wide-eyed. He’d almost call it _lovestruck_. The thought made the drumming in his ears erratic. 

The god’s warm breath touched his lips. Did gods need to breathe? He could have sworn his breathing was quicker than normal, matching pace with Roman’s own heartbeat.

“It’s late,” the god said after a moment. “The dawn is close, and you’ve much to do tomorrow.”

The moment was broken, shattered by the impending sun. The sun which had once brought Roman joy and solace now brought him only disappointment.

“I’m afraid I could not _possibly_ sleep yet,” Roman insisted.

The god offered a sad smile. _Why was he always so sad?_ And rested a thumb to the corner of Roman’s mouth. “You’re pouting. Anyone would think you petulant if they saw you.”

“Well damn anyone. And damn petulance.”

The god let out a simply _fabulous_ little laugh. Roman would even go so far as to call it a giggle. It was as joyous as the silver moon.

“I simply must go,” the god seemed withdrawn. A stark contrast from the moonbeam giggle he’d gifted Roman with a moment ago.

“Do you really have to?”

“I’m afraid I must, lion.”

“Well,” Roman tried to ignore how the god was avoiding eye contact. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow night, then?”

The god gave him a solemn look. A look that chilled Roman’s heart. “Goodbye, Prince Roman.”

And he was gone.

Roman stared at the god’s preferred spot in confusion, the drumming starting in his ears again. The god had been solemn, withdrawn, _sad._ Why had that goodbye felt so _final?_

Roman saw the dawn but met no sleep. His work was sluggish that day.

In the night, he put down his offerings and waited.

And waited.

And waited and waited and waited.

The god never came.

Roman’s work continued the next day with more progress. But no god came to greet him that night.

The days passed and passed. Roman missed the god’s presence so deeply that he felt the ache of his absence weigh on his bones, from the tips of his hairs to the tips of his toes. 

The storms were his only refuge from his pain. There was nothing else he had that was so ethereally _his god_ than the billowing clouds, appearing as soft as his wavy hair and small smile, pattering rain as gentle as his low voice and anxious stare, rolling thunder as powerful as the Magic Roman felt rolling under his skin when he got too close. It was so _raw_ that Roman rejoiced in it. Whispering love into the howling winds.

“You’ve outdone yourself today,” he’d whisper.

“It truly is as beautiful as you are.”

“I love how you’ve made the clouds today.”

“I love how your rain sounds.”

_I love you._

Roman was absolutely pitiful. Even Logan, less-than-conscious-of-emotional-turmoil Logan, was perturbed by Roman’s miserable state. Patton attempted comfort, but Roman simply waved him off.

Days of standing out in the rain was starting to take a toll on him. His chest hurt, and rattled with the force of his cough. His tan skin had turned a sickly hue. His body was weak.

He continued to stand in the rain, heart hurting, longing for the sight of his god’s eyes, his smile, any sight of him.

Roman sipped warm broth Patton had insisted on bringing as he plotted. He wanted, _needed,_ his god back. 

The altar wasn’t working. The offerings remained untouched. There was only one other thing, one other painful connection to him that Roman hadn’t tried yet.

Roman covered himself with a dark, heavy cloak and snagged a large book from under a nearby desk. On unsteady feet he took off into the setting sun.

The cobblestone pathways Roman had gotten so accustomed to in the sunlight took a glowing, unearthly hue in the night. It was comforting. Soft, almost. So many things felt _soft_ these days.

As he neared the center of town, a few others glided down the road with him. No doubt seeking shelter or comfort in the god’s temple. Roman stumbled along with them, like a pebble in an otherwise smooth stream. 

No one seemed to pay him any mind as he entered the building. The smell of lumber and hope filling his senses gave him a sort of renewed vigor. Perhaps it was his god’s influence on the place. Perhaps it was his own imagination. He focused on separating from the crowd. Not difficult to do, as those around him had their own business to tend to.

Roman skulked around the corners of the building, hands seeking, until he found a give in the wooden wall. He pushed, and slinked through the opening.

It was a small storehouse, just in case. Keeping resources of food, water, and crop seeds as a precaution. After all, gods were finicky.

Roman collapsed on the floor, short of breath. He pulled a candle out of his cloak, lighting it with weak fingers. The candle’s flame bounced off the walls like a sweet dream. A clouded remnant of comfort he couldn’t quite remember, but that contained a happiness he couldn’t help but chase. His spirit soared, taking the tender feeling as an omen.

He recited the spell with confidence, much more focused now that he knew what he was doing. Now that risk was abolished. He knew exactly what he was invoking.

He was invoking a healing warmth. One that chased the winter days away and called in the first breath of summer. He was invoking a beautiful tenderness. One that blessed shepherds’ rough hands to hold their lambs so gently. He was invoking a soft compassion. One he heard every day in the rolling thunder, one he saw every day when the wind cradled the leaves. One he felt every day when rose petals landed on his shoulders.

He was invoking his god. The beautiful deity who’d won his heart and stolen away his mind.

The air was getting warm again. Roman attempted to rise in his eagerness, but rose too quickly and fell forward.

Forward into waiting arms.

“What on Earth are you doing?”

Roman buried his face into his god’s chest and beamed. “You’re really here!”

Roman felt the god’s breath intertwine with his hair. “Oh, lion.”

“I’ve missed you so dearly! You know, I waited for you to show up. Every night, I stayed up and waited, and, oh! I can’t believe you’re here!”

Roman pulled back to look at him, feeling suddenly renewed. The god’s skin against his was burning but he didn’t care.

The look in the god’s eyes was absolutely devastating.

“You… waited… for me?”

A shiny, black tear rolled down his face. Roman’s attention followed it with rising concern. “Of course I waited,” he reached up to wipe the tear away. “I’d wait forever for you.”

More tears followed the first. The god seemed to stifle a hiccup. “I – I’m not sure you realize what you’re saying, lion.”

“Of course I do, _of course,_ ” Roman wiped away more of his tears. “Heavens, you expected me to let you go without question? After everything? Truly, I should be ashamed if that’s what you think of me.”

The god held Roman tighter, gasping with his tears. “I don’t think you understand, Roman. I didn’t just leave. I _couldn’t-”_

“But you _did,”_ Roman cut him off. “I was lost without you. What could possibly have possessed you to leave like that? With no word?”

The god held Roman’s face in both hands. His grip was firm, but gentle. His dark eyes searching Roman’s like a forsaken man searching for faith. Or like this was the last he’d see of him. “I truly, _truly_ didn’t want to leave you. I couldn’t bear to stay knowing you didn’t – that you didn’t-“

“That I didn’t _what_?”

The god allowed himself to sob. Only once. 

_“Love me._ Like how I love _you.”_

Roman felt _light._ As though he were flying and falling at once. As though he were Icarus soaring higher and higher as the sunlight flooded his senses and exhilaration flooded his mind.

He surged forward, catching his god’s lips with his own.

They were warm. Soft and tender and _wonderful._ Everything about his god was simply wonderful. His god held him, lovingly, tenderly, as though _Roman_ were the divine one. As though _Roman_ were the one to be loved and cherished and _worshipped._

Roman pulled back. “I love you too,” he whispered against his god’s lips.

The god laughed, breathless and disbelieving and _loving._

His god loved him.

“Virgil,” his god murmured against his lips.

“Pardon?”

“My name,” his god grinned against him. “It’s Virgil.”

“Virgil,” Roman repeated. “Virgil, _my_ Virgil.”

Virgil shivered. “My Roman,” he countered.

“Now, you’ve made a mistake, as now I can call upon you with simply a whim and a breath. That is a power I’m bound to abuse.”

“Oh, lion,” Virgil brushed Roman’s hair back. “I fully welcome you to.”


End file.
